


A Kiss For Luck

by AlannaofRoses



Category: Leverage
Genre: Episode: s05e09 The Rundown Job, Gunshot Wounds, Kissing, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannaofRoses/pseuds/AlannaofRoses
Summary: Parker doesn't believe in luck. Eliot does. She doesn't understand until they face down a madman with a gun and a virus bomb, and she needs to believe that everyone will make it home.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 36
Kudos: 221





	A Kiss For Luck

**Author's Note:**

> I am absolutely blown away by the love this fic is getting. A 1:11 comment to hit ratio? Unheard of. Thank you all so much! 
> 
> If you want more Leverage feels and fics, follow me on Tumblr at alannaofroseswrites. 😊

There’s a vault full of lasers between her and a bunch of shiny diamonds.

“Kiss for luck?” Hardison grins down at Parker, and she smirks back.

“Who needs luck?”

_“We got lucky.” Eliot says tiredly, after a job that almost went wrong. Despite the bad guy’s best efforts, there were no casualties, unless you counted one of Eliot’s ribs, which none of them did anymore. He’s draped across the couch, battling exhaustion. He’s been up for nearly 72 straight hours, and even he has limits._

_“I don’t believe in luck.” Parker returns. She’s perched on the arm of the couch at his feet, munching dry cereal. She has a cut above her eye. Eliot had crippled the man who had given it to her._

_Eliot looks at her. “I do.”_

_She cocks her head, curious, but he doesn’t elaborate. She finishes her cereal as she watches him lose the fight against sleep._

She doesn’t need luck to conquer a vault full of lasers. She trusts her skills.

They finish the job, mail off the diamonds, walk away. The thrill of victory sings in her blood. Who needs luck when they are the best there ever was?

Hardison is standing on a bomb.

Eliot is tense, grim beside her. She catalogs their options quickly- not many, all of them dangerous.

“Kiss for luck?” Hardison tries, shakily.

“I don’t believe in luck.” She reassures him.

_“I got lucky.” Eliot assures Parker as she stitches him up for the third time this case._

_She scowls down at her thread. “You always say that. Why do you always say that?”_

_“Well,” He shrugs. “I’m not dead yet.”_

_“What does that even mean?” She asks, frustrated._

_He gives her a smile that turns into a wince as she sets another stitch._

She doesn’t need luck to disarm a bomb, not even when she’s dangling from Hardison’s shoulders, Eliot steadying them both. She trusts her team.

This time it’s relief that crashes through her as they all tumble to the floor. Still, it wasn’t luck that had seen them through. They had done it together.

She stares at Eliot across a train car. He’s bleeding from a neat little hole in his shoulder, more bullets flying around them. He meets her eyes.

She knows what he’s asking her to do.

_“If you believe in luck,” she asks him one night as he’s chopping vegetables in the kitchen, “what happens when your luck runs out?”_

_“Well, then I’m probably dead.”_

_“That seems awful chancey,” she grumbles, “to believe in something that could run out at any time.”_

_He snorts. He sets down the knife and leans over the counter until he’s facing her, his blue eyes staring into her soul. His lower lip trembles, that tiny tell that says whatever he’s about to tell her comes from deep within him. “Sometimes, in a fight, you know a situation is bad. And you’re facing down machine guns or grenades or snipers, and all you’ve got is your weapon and your courage. And sometimes your courage isn’t quite enough. Sometimes, you’ve gotta believe that there’s a little bit of luck in the world. That even with the odds stacked against you, you’ll somehow make it home.”_

_She nods, even though she doesn’t understand, not really._

_He goes back to chopping. She doesn’t bring it up again._

She doesn’t need luck to burn an aerosol virus. She trusts her skill. She doesn’t need luck to know Udall won’t be coming after her. She trusts her team.

But Eliot, wounded, facing a gunman with just his fists and his courage, needed luck to bring him home.

She can’t reach him, not with Udall still shooting. But she and him, they understand each other.

So she pulls Hardison to her, knowing Eliot is watching.

“For luck.” She murmurs, and kisses him, deep and sweet and full of all the things she needs Eliot to hear.

When she meets Eliot’s eyes again, she knows he got the message. He braces himself, nods.

They move at the same time, Parker racing just far enough away that the boys will be out of range if her plan doesn’t work. She hears Hardison shouting for her, doesn’t let herself flinch at the gunshot that echoes behind her.

The virus goes up in flames.

Then Hardison is cradling her, begging her not to do it again, telling her he can’t lose her. She knows. She knows exactly how he feels.

The walk back to the train car is the longest of her life.

Eliot is kneeling in the aisle. His head rises as they enter, his eyes dark and shadowed with pain. Udall is sprawled next to him, unconscious.

Parker moves forward, sinks to her knees in front of Eliot. He’s breathing hard, and a second wound pours blood from his thigh. He’s alive.

She kisses him, and he kisses back, deep and sweet and full of all the things they’ve never needed to say out loud to each other.

Still, when she pulls back, she says the one thing she does need to voice.

“For luck.”

Hardison joins them on the floor, cradling them both, Eliot leaning into his embrace gratefully. Within minutes, the tunnel is swarming with cops, feds, more. Vance comes in shouting, and helps Hardison half-carry Eliot to a waiting ambulance.

Eliot is sleeping, finally, in the middle of the king size bed in their hotel room in DC. There’s still blood on his clothes.

_“What’s a good luck charm?” Parker asks, scowling down at a file._

_“It’s like a token.” Eliot says distractedly from the other room. He’s knotting his tie for a tricky con they’re pulling that night. “Something you keep with you to protect you or ensure a favorable outcome.”_

_“Can a person be a good luck charm?”_

_“Well, sure, I guess. It’s just a symbol, really.”_

_Parker slid off her stool and joined Eliot, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Can I be your good luck charm?”_

_He raises a brow. “Thought you didn’t believe in luck, sweetheart.”_

_“I don’t. But you do. Isn’t that the whole point?”_

Parker has never had much use for luck in her life.

She brushes a kiss against Eliot’s forehead anyway.

For luck.


End file.
